


Birthday Past

by micehell



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-02
Updated: 2006-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't Mr. Potato Head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Past

Arthur hesitates, looking down at his feet instead of at Curt as he hands the present over. "I know you said it was just a song, but I thought…"

He trails off as Curt rips the paper off the package, wondering what song Arthur's trying to give him. Curt can only stand there, not knowing what to say, when he sees what's inside the box.

Arthur still isn't looking at him, but the silence must have stretched too long for his comfort, because he's stammering out an apology, "I can get you something else," following and preceding, "I'm sorry," his face as red as the bow Curt tore getting to his gift.

Curt shakes his head, wondering how someone could be so perceptive and so blind at the same time. He holds the box close to his chest, trying to reach for words he's only ever let out in music before, but he can't figure it out, as mute as Arthur is blind.

Instead he lays the gift aside, pulling Arthur close, letting the fingers he slides along Arthur's back say, _Thank you_. Letting his tongue trace along Arthur's bared chest, his bared cock, letting it say, _No one has ever understood me the way you do_. Letting his body, bare to Arthur's touch, open to Arthur's cock thrusting inside him, say, _I've never felt like this before._

He pulls Arthur into him as deeply as he can, willing him to understand what he can't find words for, only touch.

Afterwards, breathless, Arthur holds him close and gasps, "So I guess you like the gift?"

Curt remembers: The year is 1952, and it was a couple of weeks before his seventh birthday. He's over at a friend's house, watching TV and wishing his mother was like Mrs. Nelson, when a commercial comes on advertising a new toy called Mr. Potato Head. Curt doesn't know why he'd wants it so badly, but it's all he asks for for his birthday.

Curt remembers: His birthday. There's shouting going on most of the day, his mother's voice slurring with alcohol, his father's anger sharpened by it. He has to remind his mother what day it is, and several times he has to avoid his father's fist to keep from getting a present he'd wear for days. The cake, when it's finally made, is burned and his present is delivered with a lecture on how his father isn't made of cash.

Curt remembers: It isn't Mr. Potato Head. Why he remembers so well that one gift he didn't get, that one awful birthday, among all the others he could have chosen from, he doesn't know, but he remembers writing _Birthday Past_ about it.

Curt also remembers: A rooftop in London, a bar in New York, and tearing open his first birthday present from Arthur to find a vintage Mr. Potato Head nestled inside.

Breathless himself, he laughs. "It was the second best present I ever got."

/story


End file.
